Chapter 254

Chapter 254 – Strength Enough to Survive a Night Anywhere, Even with Wicked Intent

Before our talk formally commenced, I claimed the most premium spot on the reception couch inside Parun’s laboratory.

Naturally, Parun settled down directly to my right side—a perfectly appropriate seating arrangement for the reigning Tower Lord and the newly designated Vice Tower Lord.

Oh, just for context, Parun’s elevation to Vice Tower Lord was a very recent development. He wasn’t actually aware of it yet.

In any case.

“Care for some tea?”

“Just a single carriage full would be wonderful.”

“Hah, uttering nonsense like that—you must be absolutely thrilled.”

What an oblivious remark.

I happened to be the sort of person who could spout absolute nonsense even when I wasn’t thrilled at all.

“So, you can secure the property? Free of charge?”

Parun slowly shook his head in response to my query.

“Naturally, it isn’t free of charge. It’s just that the compensation isn’t financial.”

“Not… financial?”

“What else do you even possess?”

I paused to reflect for a brief moment.

“A gentle heart and a deep devotion to justice.”

“More like the raw physical power to endure a night in any location, even with a corrupt heart.”

“…Raw physical power?”

Parun offered a silent nod, using his sorcery to summon a tea set from a far corner of the laboratory before beginning to brew.

Oddly enough, there were three cups laid out.

“I will provide the abbreviated version first. We can receive the granular details directly from the client once they arrive.”

Parun poured the steaming, freshly brewed tea as he spoke further.

“Have you ever caught wind of the Kalia Mercenary Corps?”

“Never.”

The name struck a faint chord somewhere in my memory, but nothing definitive surfaced.

“What about Pola, then?”

As if I could possibly forget that name.

Until just last year, we had cohabited in the same dorm room, mutually ignoring each other’s late-night escapes—my degenerate roommate who possessed surprisingly pleasant vibes.

Instead, I tilted my head slightly and feigned ignorance.

Why?

Because the solitary occasion I had ever encountered Pola while wearing my disguise was that single instance when Karahen had infiltrated Parun’s estate.

“Never heard of him.”

Parun, seemingly anticipating that exact reply, unhurriedly continued with his briefing.

“The young mercenary who accompanied Karahen on that occasion. I am unsure if you noticed, but he is actually an academy student. The Kalia Mercenary Corps is the specific organization Pola belongs to.”

Ah, of course—it clicked now.

‘Yes, that’s the one.’

Pola, who had been the top-ranked freshman enrollee in martial arts last year, had generated quite a buzz among the student body back then.

“Moving on, what about them?”

“Their primary headquarters was originally situated near the Blandoga territory, but for some specific reason, they chose to involve themselves in the Decullan-Lortel conflict this time around.”

“This clash wasn’t of a magnitude that allowed just any random mercenary outfit to dive into.”

“The Kalia Mercenary Corps is far from a random outfit. While not quite belonging to the Five Great Mercenary Bands, they sit immediately below that tier.”

Yes, fine, whatever the case may be.

“So, which faction did they align with?”

“Which faction do you honestly think? If they had thrown in their lot with Decullan, we wouldn’t be conducting this conversation right now.”

Why did I even bother asking that?

Setting my own private sentiments aside, the Magic Tower and the Sword Academy stood as Lortel’s most unwavering pillars of support.

At any rate, since they had backed Lortel…

“Continue.”

“You can surmise the remainder of the tale. The Kalia Mercenary Corps marched their vanguard into the theater of war and ended up completely isolated within Decullan territory. The client desires their liberation.”

“Meaning, you want me to…”

“Extract the Kalia Mercenary Corps from Decullan lands. Given that we are aligned with Lortel, rendering her assistance is a favorable move. Accomplish this, and…”

Parun paused to soothe his throat with a sip of tea before concluding.

“They will transfer ownership of the land that the Kalia Mercenary Corps purchased.”

Once Parun concluded his explanation.

“Give me a moment. Let me weigh this.”

I leaned back against the cushions of the couch, folding my arms and shutting my eyes.

A mercenary outfit has been cut off. I go and extract them. In exchange, I inherit the real estate they purchased.

It was a straightforward enough assignment, but a handful of details required verification.

To begin with.

“How can you be certain that the mercenary outfit is even breathing?”

“The client possesses a specific magical relic that permits them to monitor the vital signs of the corps commander.”

“Meaning that strictly speaking, this is a ‘save the commander’ mission, rather than a rescue of the entire regiment.”

“You could certainly interpret it through that lens.”

Next.

“When exactly were they cut off? And do we possess knowledge of their final verified coordinates?”

“Defer to the client regarding the coordinates. As for the timeline of the isolation, they estimate it occurred roughly one to two days ago.”

One to two days ago.

It was a bit grim, but I needed to press for clarity.

“Are you absolutely positive they are still among the living? Even if they breathe, they might be in dreadful shape.”

“They were functional when the client approached me earlier today. What the situation is right now is anyone’s guess. However, regarding that point about them being in ‘dreadful shape’…”

“Decullan is not known for treating captives gently. Formal knights and regular infantry? They can extract a hefty ransom from their respective lords, so they receive baseline care. But mercenaries? You understand the reality.”

Mercenaries were never granted protections under standard wartime conventions to begin with.

Even ordinary conscripts could force their lords to shell out funds for their release, but mercenaries? Not a chance.

No noble house was going to squander ransom money to liberate sellswords.

In any case.

‘Tch, right during the middle of the academic term, of all times.’

Terrible timing.

Back during my freshman year, the veteran headmaster would shift my combat instruction schedule around to accommodate such things.

Parun possessed no such administrative authority.

‘I need to figure out a loophole.’

While I was pondering the dilemma, Parun chose that exact moment to speak up.

“Can you manage it?”

“Managing the execution isn’t the problem.”

I was a transcendent archmage.

Short of the Decullans deploying a Seven Mage against me or dropping my body squarely into the center of their main host, nothing was overly daunting.

‘And if I enlist Shine to assist… No. There is no reason to drag in a man who is already buried under his own duties.’

Shine had already resigned from his position as an academy instructor to oversee defensive operations and vassal conditioning within the Second Black-White Slums. It made no sense to pull him into this mess as well.

The immediate bottleneck was the rigid academy timetable.

Just then, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed from outside Parun’s laboratory.

“Hm, they have arrived.”

“The client?”

“Precisely.”

Ah, right, the individual commissioning the job was arriving.

Who could it possibly be?

Knock, knock.

Two precise raps. Upon receiving Parun’s vocal assent, the door swung inward to reveal a face I recognized instantly.

“It has been… a while. I am Pola.”

The client turned out to be Pola.

“Take a seat.”

“Thank you.”

I blinked, genuinely caught off guard by the unexpected arrival.

“Why the shock? I explicitly informed you—Pola belongs to the Kalia Mercenary Corps.”

“No, but given our shared history, it is only logical to assume that…”

I cast a highly skeptical glance toward Pola.

Did he register the unspoken meaning behind my stare?

Pola, who had respectfully accepted the teacup Parun filled using both hands, squared his shoulders and addressed me.

“If your hesitation concerns the compensation, there is absolutely no cause for anxiety.”

“What, are you the son of the commander or something?”

It wasn’t meant as a snide remark—I was purely curious.

“We share no blood ties, but the commander is my foster mother. The real estate acquired under the name of the Kalia Mercenary Corps is legally mandated to transfer to me upon her passing. Therefore…”

“You are simply liquidating the asset ahead of schedule?”

“Yes.”

I stroked my jawline, considering Pola’s resolute confirmation.

‘This plays out a bit like a promissory note.’

When you analyze it.

The property only legally falls into Pola’s hands after the commander loses her life.

But what happens if I successfully extract her?

The land remains under the commander’s ownership, and Pola retains no immediate claim to it.

It could easily look like weighing human lives against real estate, but that was simply the unvarnished reality of their world.

They made the conscious choice to step onto the theater of war—the fallout belonged entirely to them.

Regardless, with that detail clarified, I directed my attention back to Pola.

“I have not yet determined whether I will accept this commission. It hinges entirely on what you communicate next. Clear?”

“Yes, I understand completely.”

“Furthermore, since you brought this matter to Parun, it is obviously a crisis. However, from this juncture onward, we are no longer fellow academy student, professor, and teaching associate. The precise instant you faced me, Parun completed his academic obligation. Do you concur?”

“Yes. Irrespective of how this concludes, I will harbor no resentment toward Professor Parun.”

“Excellent.”

That must be the mercenary upbringing showing through.

A crisp boundary between personal relationships and professional matters.

With the groundwork laid, I finally shifted to the core issue.

“First off, is the commander physically sound?”

“I cannot speak to her exact physical condition, however…”

Pola reached into an internal pocket and retrieved a pristine white gemstone.

A faint shimmer pulsed at its core.

“She remains among the living, for the moment.”

“You cannot pin down coordinates utilizing that item?”

“No.”

“Very well. I recognize that time is of the essence, but I require granular data. The sector where the regiment was isolated. Total troop counts. The true target of the extraction—is it exclusively the commander, or the entire company? And the precise geographical coordinates of the land offered as compensation.”

Whether I actually execute the mission will be determined afterward.

“Understood, in that case…”

Shedding the familiar demeanor he usually maintained as a fellow student at the academy, Pola proceeded to speak with utmost formality.

Deep within Decullan territory, surrounded by the chaotic theater of war.

Commander Ekst sat in deep thought, his countenance crusted over with dried, dark blood.

‘…Is this already the second day?’

A full forty-eight hours had elapsed since their disorganized retreat from a sudden Decullan ambush had severed them from the primary host, forcing them to seek sanctuary within a cavern on an anonymous ridge.

They had managed to evade their trackers up to this point and hunker down in this hidden location, yet the outlook remained incredibly grim.

Twenty-one heavy fighters remaining from his White Shield Order.

And…

Thirty-two elite combatants from the Kalia Mercenary Corps.

Securing over fifty living souls through a relentless enemy dragnet was nothing short of a phenomenon, but it offered little reason for optimism.

‘Leaving the trackers aside… sustenance is our most pressing crisis.’

Thus, Commander Ekst could do little but brood in silence, until a female figure stepped out from the cluster of exhausted fighters and sellswords.

“Commander, any communication from the estate?”

“Absolutely none. It appears the communication crystal sustained fatal damage during our escape maneuver.”

“Hmm.”

The captain of the Kalia Mercenary Corps, Britra, let out a soft, low grunt, surveyed the battered gathering, and then lowered the volume of her voice.

“…How many days can we endure on our remaining rations?”

“Three days at most. And that is only if we implement the most stringent rationing protocols.”

“Three days… That is a dire window.”

“…”

Ekst remained quiet, silently validating her assessment.

Three days might sound manageable on paper, but it was a window merely sufficient to delay starvation—leaving absolutely no physical reserves for actual combat.

Even if they managed to outlast those three days…

‘There is zero probability of the primary host arriving.’

With their communication crystal completely shattered, how could the main army possibly pinpoint this location?

If any forces materialized on the horizon, it would undoubtedly be Decullan vanguard scouts.

The moment for a definitive decision was looming.

‘Do we wait here indefinitely for a rescue that may never come? Or…’

Do they cut their way outward while they still possessed the physical strength to wield weapons?

Then, Britra broke the silence.

“Commander.”

“Speak your mind.”

“It would be wise not to make any reckless choices right now. Starvation clouds the intellect, and a clouded intellect breeds fatal errors. Therefore…”

“Therefore?”

“Let us ponder our options calmly for just a bit longer. In the absolute worst-case scenario… we end up dead regardless, don’t we?”

“…”

Britra flashed an entirely unbothered, easygoing smirk.

Commander Ekst found himself letting out a quiet chuckle despite the circumstances.

The display vividly brought someone else to mind.

‘…The Tower Lord.’

Yes, she acted exactly like that individual.

‘Come to think of it, we owe our survival to him.’

Evading the Decullan pursuit squads and enduring for this length of time? It was entirely due to the specialized anti-sorcery maneuvers the Tower Lord had imparted to them.

In the midst of that harrowing predicament, a fragile smile surfaced on his face.

…However, Ekst was rapidly running out of time.

When the final hour arrived, he would have to make his choice.

To grasp desperately at a microscopic thread of salvation and press onward, or to yield to the immediate reality and stretch out their remaining hours of life.

Either path was equally harrowing. There was no alternative route left to take.